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After dinner, Mark accompanied him to his room, and Mac reassured the Chorister he was fine. Mark insisted the Adept was still exhausted and dehydrated. Mac tossed his key on the bed and sat down beside it. He remembered most of what they had discussed but it had all run together in a haze of robed men with waving swords. Mark had noticed him fighting to keep his eyes open. Not as well patched up as I thought I was. Filled with light soup, bread and a salad – not to mention two glasses of wine – Mac was quickly falling asleep.
With a sigh he stripped out of the tee-shirt and jeans and climbed back into the covers. His last thoughts before sleep claimed him were of his passport.
Again he woke with no memory of a dream. His head hurt, which he attributed to the wine, and his body ached from toe to scalp. It was going to take a few days to completely recover. He groaned as he sat up and rubbed his eyes with the base of his palms. A shower should do the job – but where am I going to get clothes?
He thought of his passport, and as he started to rise the room faded a bit. He sat back down on the edge of the bed and waited. He saw an image of someone, overlayed on his own surroundings. They were moving about a room – but not his room. A different hotel room. One with two beds. The floor was … gold? He blinked several times to clear his head.
What am I seeing?
This wasn't something screwing with his optics, or his Navigator. He closed his eyes – the half images had become a bit disorienting. It was a different hotel room, definitely. The ghostly image was more solid in his mind's eye. Why am I seeing…
…and there it was. In clear view. His passport, sitting on the dressing table of this hotel room. Immediately he knew where it was, what city, how far away and how to triangulate the distance for acquisition.
Uno City.
Oh no…
Winnie Walberg came into sharp focus. She was dressed in a white terry-cloth robe, looking more like an over grown polar bear than an elderly lady. I must have dropped it on the bus – that has to be how she got it. But she said she was traveling to Prague…why was she still in Uno?
"If it's a part of you – you have touched it, used it, know its texture - you will always be able to locate it," came Trent's words to him, spoken with care during one of his teaching sessions on Correspondence. "But retrieving it," he'd shook his head. "That is the real test of the Adept."
Mac lay back down on the bed as he focused on the passport. She'd wrapped it in a plastic bag, and left it there by the lamp. He could just make out a manila folder beneath it. There was a name scrawled along its tab, but he couldn't read it.
He'd corresponded small things to himself by accident at times. His keys for one. While in the store back home, sorting books, he always seemed to have the book he needed at hand. And his coffee was always with him. But here… he sighed to himself. I've not used magic, really used it, much since my Awakening. Perhaps now is the time to start.
With a deep breath he focused on the small object, imagined it in his hand. Time and space warped and twisted and he felt his muscles tense. His head began a low throb in the base of his skull and he thought he would lose the connection. And there, within the room in this hotel in Uno City, he reached out to grasp it. The center of his chest ached as the familiar haze of corr descended.
It was difficult, as if hanging by one hand on a ledge while trying to get to a rocky handhold just far enough out of his reach that he had to twist and elongate his body to touch it with his fingertips. The image in the hotel room began to fade as his fingers made contact with the small, blue book. It was difficult yes, but not impossible. Focus…focus… He closed his fingers around it, knew it was there. Felt the cardboard-like cover, felt the stiffness in his hand…
And he had it. Solid. Whole. He gasped for air, not realizing till then that he'd been holding his breath. He opened his eyes and pulled air into his lungs as the room spun round. He was still connected to her room. Still nearly there and he felt himself slipping away...
No…don't teleport. Don't go…
There was a release like the snap of a rubber band and he felt himself grow heavier as he lay prone on the sheets. He blinked over and over again and breathed hard. The ache over his body intensified and he groaned aloud.
After several unsteady minutes, the Adept pushed himself up on his elbows and looked at the blue book on his sheets. He'd done it. He'd actually brought it across the penumbra to himself. He'd connected from here to there.
Trent would be proud.
His thoughts darkened when he thought of his mentor and the man's abandonment. It was better to not think of him. And to not think of those friends that now refused to answer his posts on the VA boards. Those that never returned his messages. They're only protecting themselves.
And if you think about it, it's better this way.
Right.
With a heavy sigh he pushed himself up to a sitting position, touched the passport to know it was really there and walked slowly to the bathroom for a long, hot shower.
A knock at the door surprised him as he slid on the jeans from the night before. He believed it was Arden or Mark and was surprised to find a small, smiling woman standing outside instead of the Verbena or Chorister.
"Mr. Mcgyver?"
He nodded, unsure of what this woman wanted.
He'd not noticed at first that she held a package between her small hands. It was rather wide and encased in brown package paper. She thrust it forward and nodded. "This came for you. Your friend, the marine, said you were here."
Calen? Mac smiled and took the package. With another nod, she turned and left. With a worried expression, the VA closed the door and set the package on the bed. Who would send me something? Surely it wasn't the VE. Well, you won't know if you just stare it it.
Actually…he smiled. I will.
He narrowed his eyes, and allowed his optics to whirl about until they pierced the packaging…
…and saw nothing.
Interesting.
He tore the paper off and was surprised to find a seamless silver box. It was smooth surfaced with a dull, unpolished finish. After a cursory inspection, Mac could find no way to open it.
Then, along the top, a small indention formed. It was the size of … his thumb? With a shrug, he placed his finger on the area.
A seam split down the center. Mac stepped back as the box opened up much like a flower petal. He paused, his wards up – a shield of Forces he'd learned from Trent, but had rarely used. It took rotes before to activate the magic – foci. But now it only seemed to take a thought.
After a few minutes, he stepped forward and peered inside.
There were several items wrapped in white plastic. And on top was a folded piece of paper.
With a sigh, he took the paper out and opened it.
Dear Mr. Mcgyver, a.k.a. Alan Cooper
Oh hell…
I'm sorry to inform you that Laura Huang, formerly of the Avalon Group, has been taken into custody by NWO. All we know is that she is being held in a tight security facility and has undergone interrogation. We are certain she will not divulge your Cabal's mission, but we are taking precautions to ensure yours and your fellow comrade's safety.
Mac felt as if he'd been punched. He put a hand to his head as he sat down in the chair by the desk. Huang was taken? Oh hell. The others need to know this.
Before her capture, she requested an Ionic suit be delivered to you. We are in agreement as to its purpose. Enclosed is the suit and control belt. There is a flash drive with the appropriate software needed to encode the belt's control to your wetware. We are aware of your recent ordeal and have enclosed a connection for your port as well, to replace the hardware lost. As for replacing the laptop, we are unable to do this at this time.
We do apologize for our tardiness in getting to you once we learned of your capture – and have taken into consideration the actions of Nicholas Calen. Though his identity has been compromised, we will continue our efforts keep him and the others safe.
It is also our wish to send the deepest and sincerest condolences on the loss of your sister-n-law, Rebecca Anne Cooper.
Mac ran a hand through his stiff, shortened hair.
Several other items have been included to replace those pieces of hardware you have lost. A connector, AV plugs and a Nokia Communicator. You will be able to monitor Union traffic at times, but it is our warning – do not attempt to hack into any systems at this time. Your signature can be traced and the John Doe missing from UNO will be identified. We cannot be more clear on this. If you are captured again, there is no guarantee that we, or Mr. Calen, will be able to give aid.
Though your Father is a good man, he is unaware of our activities or our existence. Should you fall into his hands, whether voluntarily or involuntarily, we would be forced to terminate you as quickly as possible.
Oh...that's good to know. But does that mean if Calen hadn't of arrive in Uno - and Rebecca had taken me to my father - I'd be on the Avalon hit list right now?
Know that one of us will be contacting you soon.
Sincerely,
A friend in the Avalon Group
He looked at the bottom of the paper to a small, hand scrawled note.
"Alan…be more careful and less trusting."
Who…? Where? He reread the letter again. Then, with a snort, he tossed the letter to the table.
Puzzles. Mysteries. No answers. I'm sick of it.
He returned to the box, curiosity warring out over caution. He pulled out the assorted hardware and set their packages aside. He retrieved the suit from the bottom and removed the plastic. It was a plain garment, resembling little more than a black jumpsuit with odd studs in the front at the waist.
Rumaging about the hardware bags, he found the flash drive and was pleasantly surprised to see that it had a port connector and not a usb. He shrugged and inserted it behind his left ear.
The information uploaded immediately and installed smoothly into his Navigator. He accessed it and studied how to use the suit. Mac pulled his jeans off and slipped inside the soft, black fabric. It adhered to his body in a way that wasn't unpleasant.
He put the belt on, and inserted its back into the studs. Mac moved to the mirror and looked at himself. He laughed out loud. I look silly.
Recalling the Agent suit Calen had worn on more than one occasion, Mac decided upon that look. The image instantly shimmered – and Mac was dressed as an Agent.
Revulsion came fast with nausea and he immediatley adjusted the look, making the top a black, long sleeved shirt and the pants into black, pleated slacks. He grinned at his reflection. Not bad.
I could get used to this.
After surveying the remainder of his hardware, Mac packed everything into the black bag Calen had thrust on him and headed out to the tavern next door.
As Mac neared the tavern's front, the bag over his shoulder, a long, black, stretch limo arrived and stopped at the front door of the tavern. Kyle stepped out, dressed in his cassock and a grin. He closed the door and the limo pulled away to park nearby.
Kyle beamed at Mac.
"Nice ride," the Adept commented.
"You cut your hair," the Hollow One said.
Mac nodded. Mark and Arden were approaching from the hotel. The Chorister was as dapper as always, dressed in the finest tan Versace suit. Arden looked radiant in a dress of dark green. She still wore her heels, which caused her to sway just right as they approached.
Mark immediately went to Mac and took his chin in hand. He tilted the VA's head up to look in his eyes.
"What?" Mac said.
"Just checking. You know how I worry – I'm still convinced you shouldn't have had that wine last night." He frowned. "Your eyes are still a bit clouded, and you have nice, dancing half moons beneath them." He clasped his hands together. "But I'll be keeping watch."
Mac nodded. Great.
"With a hand on Mac's back, the Chorister turned to Kyle. "Good to see you made it."
The Hollow One beamed again.
A buzzing, whining noise brought everyone's attention to the road. Derrick pulled up then, gripping tight to his Vespa. He wore no helmet and a large grin as he saw everyone assembled.
The Akashic parked the Vespa nearby and ambled over. He looked a bit dusted from travel, but good for the wear. "How is everyone?"
Mark smiled and commented on the lovely day.
With a nod to Mac, Derrick said, "Hair looks better," then rubbed his own shaved head as if to drive the point home.
Mac smiled. "Yeah. I guess."
"Shall we go in?" Derrick opened his arms and nodded to the door.
But another distraction prevented them from entering as a VW minibus bounced into the drive. It stopped a few feet away. The door slid open and out tumbled Johnny, all smiles, and still dressed in the same jeans and shirt as before.
Derrick began to sing softly, "Bus…magic bus."
"How's everyone?" the singer looked in better spirits than he had in Vienna. He frowned at Mac. "New look?"
"Not intentionally. Let's go in. I'm hungry."
They turned and entered the tavern as a group, and saw Calen sitting at a small table, alone. The marine was dressed in his usual black tee and fatigues, and was reading the paper. He looked up briefly as the others filed in, but returned to his reading without a word.
Arden folded her arms over her chest as she lobbied a stare at Calen. Why was she looking at him so intently? Aside from him being his usual arrogant self, I mean?
Mac was distracted from this train of thought by Mark's mother-hen routine, however. The Chorister pushed him into a chair and ordered a large carafe of orange juice. "You'll drink all of that and like it," he said with a gleaming smile before taking a seat on the opposite side of the table.
After a quick breakfast, Derrick led the discussion as they made plans to enter Prague and approach Mr. Serga Demova. Mac had the address at hand and copied it down for each of them onto a napkin – in case they were split up. He'd been able to easily locate the address – identifying it as an antique shop near the center of Prague.
Kyle offered his limo for transportation, but Calen opted out for his bimmer. Arden also chose to drive there in her Lamborghini Diablo. Derrick said he'd take his Vespa. Johnny took Kyle up on his offer, as did Mac. They all agreed to meet at the appointed address at 1:00 p.m.
Outside, as Mark slid into the yellow prestige car, Arden sauntered over to Calen's bimmer as he opened the door. She raised an eyebrow and reached out to touch the hood.
"What is she doing?" asked Johnny as he and Mac settled into the limo. Mac had been watching the Witch, and had wondered the same thing.
Knowing Arden? The Adept laughed to himself. There's no telling.
Whatever it was she was after evidently didn' t work. Mac figured this out by the look of anger that crossed her face as she turned and marched purposefully back to her Lamborghini.
Johnny started relaying his three day adventure to Kyle and Mac as they traveled to Prague. Mac missed most of it as he fell asleep on the comfortable cushions.
It was Arden that woke him, a gentle touch on his cheek. Her eyes were bright and full of mischief. "We're here. Derrick agreed that you and Mark should go in and make the contact. Mark's got the tapestry with him."
Mac rose and followed the witch out of the limo. The sun was bright and he immediately pulled the new shades he'd received that morning out and slipped them on. The left ear hook tapped into his port and adjusted the lenses to his optic nerve, giving him the perfect view – not too bright and not too dark. Mac smiled to himself. Sweet. No wonder Calen's so fond of them.
They were parked beside a cobble sidewalk. The area was quaint, with tourists walking up and down, admiring the picturesque shops. The others piled out of their cars as well, with Derrick parking his Vespa down the street. The Akashic looked around the street as he approached the group.
"Okay, let's get this going. Mac, Mark – be charming."
"I always am," the Chorister beamed.
"I'm going to survey the perimeter," Calen volunteered. He pulled out his communicator and looked at Mac. "Link up."
The Adept nodded. He accessed his Navigator and connected to Calen's communicator. Single, one-way connection. He raised an eyebrow at the VE. "Working?"
The VE simply nodded.
Mac ducked back into the limo to grab his black bag. Mark tucked the tapestry inside.
"What do we do?" asked Arden.
"I'm going to stay in the limo," Kyle said and climbed back in.
Derrick shook his head. "Just hang tight. You can tap to Mark with Mind, correct?"
She glanced over at Mark, then at Mac. Her right eyebrow arched. "Yeah – Mark, you'd better tap into Mac's mind, since he's still a beginner at all this."
Mac shot her a bird.
Derrick spoke. "Then keep an eye on them like that, Arden. I'll be across the street." With that, the muscular Akashic walked away.
Mark smiled at Mac. "It's showtime."
A bell rang as they entered. The store was beautiful and elegant, if not pricey. It smelled of old ghosts, forgotten and traded family heirlooms. The antiques formed several rows that eventually led them to the back and a counter where a young man stood watching them. Mac paused and took a quick look at a tag on a grandfather clock. He couldn't stop the whistle that escaped him. "Forty-thousand," he looked at Mark to his right. "For a clock?"
Mark frowned at him. "Do you speak Czech?"
The Adept shrugged. "I can. Don't you?"
"No."
Hell. The Adept accessed a language program in Czech. Mark touched him on the shoulder and smiled. Mac felt the chorister's presence which he could only explain as a warm, relaxing, calm sensation.
The young man smiled at them, his gaze riveted to Mark. "May I help you?"
Mark returned the young man's smile with an equally winning one himself. "We're here to see Serga Demova."
"May I tell him who has come?"
Mark replied in an even voice, "We've come on behalf of Miguel Casada."
"Very well," the young man turned and disappeared through a door.
"Hush," Mark said under his breath.
Mac raised an eyebrow at him and the Chorister smiled. "It's Arden – she's telling me to get his number."
Oh. Mac closed his eyes. A dull ache had begun throughout his body, he wanted to go back to bed. There was heat when he closed his eyes and he shivered once or twice. Mark stepped up next to him and started to put his hand on the Adept's forehead, but Mac backed away. "I'm all right, Mark. Really."
"You understand that what I did to you was in a sense, superficial, right?"
Mac narrowed his eyes. "Superficial?"
The young man returned at that moment. His expression had changed and he appeared distressed. "He will see you in about ten minutes. If you'd like – please feel free to walk around the shop."
Mark nodded and turned to Mac. <I don't like this…>
The Adept was not surprised he could hear Mark's thoughts. He nodded to Mark. "Me neither."
"Mac – scan for cameras and computers." That was Calen's voice, feeding through his IR connection to his audio.
The Adept stepped away and put a hand to his left ear. "There aren' t any cameras, and the computer is like, circa 1988."
"That guy appeared nervous. I don't like nervous."
Mac had to agree. He voiced this to Mark, whom he found behind the pricey grandfather clock, engaged in his own discussion with Arden. "No…will you just butt out?" The Chorister smiled at Mac. "Verbena…" he said and shook his head.
"No," Mac smiled. "I've known Verbena. In this instance, it's just Arden." He relayed Calen's fears to the tall, elegant man.
Mark agreed. "Let me see what I can find out." He turned and focused his gaze to the back of the the store where the counter was. He narrowed his eyes and nodded. "It seems Demova was happy to have visitors – until he spoke of Casada…" Mark's voice was soft, distant. "The young man – Gregory – was dismayed when his employer then ordered him out and told him to ask us to wait ten minutes."
"Great," Mac muttered. "Then why is our contact nervous?"
"Well," the Chorister sighed. "The other two are dead."
Good point. He made sure Calen had gotten that information. The marine gave back a short, chopped 'affirmative'.
The young man returned and motioned them to follow. "Please…this way."
Serga Demova was in his late thirties and in fine physical condition. His office was a miasma of antiques, from paintings to small trinket boxes. Even his desk appeared to be a period piece, with a large surface covered in aged leather.
The pictures hung about the office indicated to Mac that this had been his father's business, and that Demova had inherited it. The man pulled a box from behind his desk and set it before him as Mark and Mac sit in two overstuffed chairs. "So, I'm assuming that Casada himself is dead."
The Adept and Chorister glanced at one another. "That would be correct," Mark said.
"Are you the ones responsible for his death?"
Mark shook his head and looked at Mac questioningly. It occurred to Mac at that moment that the Chorister had been at the monestery when they'd found the body.
Mac jumped in. "No – we're not."
Demova looked from Mac to Mark. "And you have something for me."
Mark nodded. "And I'm assuming you have something for us."
"Indeed," he opened the box to reveal a well polished platinum dagger.
Mac called up the image of the dagger he'd found on the encrypted database. He nodded at Mark – perfect match.
Mac pulled the tapestry from his bag and handed it to Mark. The Chorister unrolled the delicate piece and offered it to Demova.
"So, it's been set into motion," the old man said quietly as he reached out and took the woven work of art into his own hands.
Mark glanced at Mac. "I'm afraid it has."
Setting the tapestry aside, the man closed the box and moved it across the desk to Mark. "Hide this well, and keep your eyes open."
"We are." Mark handed the box to Mac who placed it in his shoulder bag. "We also need to give a word of warning – to you. To watch yourself."
"The fact that you are here, suggests the hour is already late. I suggest that you find you way out of Prague as soon as possible." Demova's voice was heavy, and thick with concern.
Mac sent a text question to Calen's Communicator.
>Did you get that?
A few seconds later as the two of them stood and left the man's office, Calen spoke in Mac's audio. "Yes. I'm parked in the back. You and Mark come out and turn left toward me. In case someone was watching the store front – they won't see you leave."
There was something in Calen's voice that made the hairs on Mac's neck raise.
>Are you picking up something?
Calen paused before answering. "Just get to the car."
Mac relayed Calen's message to Mark and the two turned left upon leaving the store. Derrick started back across, but Mac shook his head and nodded to the alley. He motioned to call him on his cell, and hoped the Akashic still had the frequency from Huang.
Huang. Mac chewed on his lower lip as they made their way down the alley to Calen's bimmer. I need to talk to Derrick about her. Unless the Akashic already knew.
As they approached Calen, the VE's communicator rang. Calen had his small gun out and answered his phone. Evidently it was Derrick. In a non-too-friendly voice, Calen told him he was taking Mac and Mark with him. They would meet up in Geneva – but either way – they needed to travel separately.
And Mac noticed the stress on needed. He narrowed his eyes at the VE. What's happened? Did it have something to do with whatever had buggered him off the road the other evening?
The two piled into the back seat of the bimmer as Calen slid into the driver's side. He cranked the car and eased out of the alley.
"What's wrong, Nicholas?" Mark's voice was soft and even.
Mac could see the VE's eyes in the rear view mirror. The Adept disconnected from the Communicator and arched his own eyebrow. "What's up, Calen?"
The VE did not answer until they had driven out of Prague. In an even and serious voice, he spoke. "Iteration X has reinstated the Pogrom. Control's lack of response has given them tacit approval – so they're hunting mages." He looked directly at Mac in the mirror. "Not to interrogate them. Not to subert them. Not to protect the masses from dangerous mistakes. Just to kill them."
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